


Not always so lucky

by Guinevere81



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 21:09:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guinevere81/pseuds/Guinevere81
Summary: Sometimes it seems James manages to get out of very sticky situations without ever coming to any actual harm. As a whump writer I had to indulge.First two chapters have been posted on Fanfiction.net before.





	1. The Great and the Good

When I saw 'The Great and the Good' I thought there were a few instances where James was really lucky with how things turned out. Therefore I did a bit of an AU. Not a complete story, just a reinterpretation of some scenes.

James was feeling guilty. Inviting his boss to play squash had been intended as a nice gesture now they were sitting in A&E. His boss had insisted he didn't have to stay but how could he not. The game had been his stupid idea after all. He sat quietly alternating between watching the hallway where Lewis had disappeared a minute ago and looking absentmindedly at his hands while he listened to the ringing of the phone and the giggling of the nurses behind him.

Suddenly there was a sound of someone yelling a name in alarm and a chair scraping against the floor and he turned. A man was attacking the giggling nurses and he leapt across the floor pulling the man off of them. The man was old and grey haired and didn't look like much but he was stronger than he looked and fuelled by rage and quickly his fist connected with James's face. It took him by surprise, he lost his grip on the man as his hands came up to cradle his face. The man hit him again and he fell backwards tumbling into the chairs behind him and, when they toppled over, onto the floor.

He lay stunned, unable to move, waiting for the next blow to land. It never came. Instead the man crouched beside him looking stricken. 'Christ, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? It was just reflex.' The man tried to excuse himself.

James drew in a gasping breath as his lungs finally agreed to start working again and then he instantly regretted it as pain flared across his back. 'Yes.' He hissed a little testily as he tried to sit back up. Pain radiated aggressively from his lower back and he let out a small undignified whine, slumping back down. He understood now just why his boss had been grumbling so much on the way over.

'Don't move sir. I saw you hit that chair, it wasn't pretty. Let's get you checked out by a doctor shall we.' A young pretty nurse offers crouching down beside him. They strap something to his back before helping him onto a cot and the man remains standing beside him looking like he's about to start crying.

As they wheel him away to an exam room James hears a woman scold the man who hurt him 'Go and apologise. 'I can't have you arrested, not with everything going on. We need you.' And no sooner is he left in a cubicle to await a doctor than the man is back at his side.

'Come to finish the job?' James jokes, somewhat sarcastically.

'I'm sorry, I'm just upset. I didn't want them to laugh. It's just… my daughter… and they were laughing…' The man trails off and James nods. He understands. He really does. He had found the giggling quite offensive himself.

'Want to tell me what happened to your daughter while we wait?' James asks and then with a slight wink 'Might take my mind off the pain and give you an outlet for some of that pent up frustration.' He suggests.

And so the man tells him and it is a distracting tale. Distracting enough that when his boss comes back, still looking miserable and looking even more miserable when he finds James about to be taken off for an x-ray, James pawns the man off on him with the suggestion that Lewis might want to take the man's details so they can check back.

Three hours later they leave A&E with their separate prescriptions and Lewis looks up at him in frustration. 'We go to A&E for my back's sake and you come out of it with a broken back, a black eye and a new case… how is that at all fair?' he asks and James smirks and then grimaces as it stretches the muscles in his face in the wrong way.

'It's a hairline fracture, and a small one at that. No more than your average stress fracture. It's not really a broken back.' James tries to dull things down a bit.

'And yet you come out of it with a free back brace and good pain killers. I get anti-inflammatories and an order to buy a new orthopaedic bed. That's hardly fair is it.' Lewis still grumbles.' And James shakes his head. 'No sir life's not always fair.' He concludes and with that they are off.


	2. The Great and the Good 2

When his boss sends him off to check on Beatrice Donelly at her home he honestly expects it to be a simple assignment. It isn't supposed to be anything more than just turning up and ringing the doorbell but he can see the man through the side window and waiting for a patrol car just doesn't seem like an option.

'Beatrice are you alright?' he hammers on the glass but gets no response. He can hear upset mumbling behind the door but he can't make out what they are saying. Ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door has no effect. And his call of 'Police, open up.' Results in the two figures behind the door moving further into the house. He can't leave Beatrice alone with a killer, he just can't.

He steels himself, he knows it's going to hurt but there isn't really an option. He kicks the window and it doesn't even crack, He tries again with more force. It feels like someone is stabbing him in the back. On the fourth try a wide crack appears in the glass and on the fifth it actually breaks. He pushes his arm through the window and unlocks the door. His back is screaming at him but he pushes forward.

He stumbles into the living room to find Ashton and Beatrice standing at arms length just staring at each other. 'Police, please step away from the girl.' James hisses through gritted teeth.

He can hear the screech of a car pulling to a stop outside. He forces himself to take shallow breaths, steeling himself to stay on his feet. He doesn't think he'd be able to take Ashton in a fight, not when he can barely stand straight.

Then Keiran Donnely and his inspector burst through the door and it is not the suspect he had initially expected to have to restrain which he is latching onto. He can barely hear the angry ranting, all he is focused on is keeping a tight grip on the raging man's arm. It works until there is a viscous twisting of the man he is trying to hold back and something twinges painfully in his back sending him to the floor.

He is only half listening to Beatrice's desperate begging. A vague pleading of 'protect me, protect me now.' Seems to filter through and it feels thoroughly annoyed that this is all James has been trying to do and now it seems he can't move without spikes of agony shooting up his back. The room grows gradually more still and the panic seems to ebb away.

'Sir, sir please.' James pleads and Robbie Lewis finally looks down and for the first time notices that his sergeant is slumped against the doorframe a bright sheen of sweat on his forehead and his features distorted in pain.

'James, oh no. Is it your back, did you do it in?' He asks, placing a very careful palm on James' back over the brace that is still in place but hardly powerful enough for the kind of acrobatics James has just tried to produce.

'That's one word for it.' James groans.

'Ok lie down. I'm going to call an ambulance.' Robbie suggests.

'Nope, I'm not moving if I can help it.' James argues. His own hand has reached back to join his boss' on the small of his back.

Before the paramedics have time to arrive he finds himself pitching forward and being violently sick onto the Donnely's carpet and he silently curses his own stupid reaction to being in pain. Why can't he just cry and scream like a normal person. Robbie's hands are there carefully guiding him to lie down on his side holding him steady. There's something soft being placed under his head and his boss' gentle hand steadying the back of his neck.

James feels stupid. There had been no real need to break that window. If he finds himself chronically injured after this it won't be because he saved someone's life, it will be because he tried to play hero unnecessarily.

Lying still on his side calms the pain down to a dull throbbing and he's able to carefully turn his head and look up at his boss. 'I was only trying to help.' He offers weakly and Lewis, his brow wrinkled in worry gives him a wry grin.

'Aren't you always.' He responds 'silly lad.' But there's no bite to his comment and the hand that was supporting James' neck comes up to brush over James' short hair.

The ambulance isn't long arriving and he's soon strapped to a hard board and loaded into it. The last trip to A&E had seemed mildly amusing, painful, but all rather silly, this time it is a haze of pain and the faint awareness that people are talking about him in hushed tones outside his room rather than to his face and James knows it isn't a joke this time.

The medical staff's grave faces mean that diagnosis is rather faster this time. He's instantly whipped off for x rays and his DI hasn't even had time to arrive before a serious looking doctor informs him that he has been incredibly stupid, that what was a minor fracture is now a proper one and if he doesn't take it easy, rest and heal he could end up paralysed. They strap him into a more solid back brace than the one he had before and shoot him full of morphine.

It doesn't take long before they find that morphine doesn't agree with him when he starts throwing up violently, his head pounding and his whole body trembling slightly. They shoot him up with some sort of strong sedative and by the time Robbie walks into the cubicle a nurse is sat next to him holding a paper bowl in one hand and rubbing circles over James' shoulder with the other.

He looks terrible Robbie notes as he walks up and places his hand carefully on the blanket over James' legs. 'Will he be alright?' He asks the nurse hesitantly.

She smiles up at him indulgently. 'His back is broken and he's not responding well to the pain medication but as long as he rests and follows medical advice he should be fine. We just need to guard against nerve damage.' She promises and Robbie breathes a sigh of relief. For a moment there he had feared much, much worse.

He takes over from the nurse, sitting with James, holding his head when he throws up again, and patiently waits until James is taken up to a ward and tucked into a room next to an old man with a broken hip. James is pretty out of it. He wakes occasionally to mumble vague apologies about being stupid, tell Robbie his back really hurts and he's feeling sick and then fall asleep again. It's disconcerting but the doctors tell him that it's just a reaction to the medication James has been given. Robbie hopes it's the truth because when the nurses shoo him out and tell him he can come back again tomorrow he still hasn't been able to have a lucid conversation with his young partner.

Not managing morphine well turns out to be rather unfortunate as James comes back home with nothing stronger than paracetamol to handle the throbbing pain that is his lower back. After a week in hospital he's grouchy and bored and seriously arguing that surely he can come back to work at least part time. Robbie is dubious and in the end finds himself taking a week of holiday just so that he can stay home with his ailing sergeant.

James grumbles but in the end they have quite a nice week of take away and watching re-runs of old Agatha Christie mysteries. James doesn't complain about the constant pain but after a few days of sleeping on James' sofa Robbie does and they come to the mutual agreement that it will be better for all parties involved in Robbie in fact goes home to sleep.

They are both relieved when the doctor agrees that James is allowed to come back to work for part time desk duty. Sitting in the office for more than a few hours at a time is unmanageable, but James spends as much time as he can in the office, popping paracetamol like they were sweets and making swift work of Robbie's backlog of paperwork for which he is greatly thankful.

In the end it takes nearly five months before the brace comes off and James is once again back to his old self. Even then there is a slight hesitancy in the way he moves and Robbie is frightfully conscious of the fact that his sergeant is not by any means as invincible as he sometimes likes to let on.


	3. The Mind Has Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I adore James Hathaway but what are the odds of the skinny ex seminarian turned fasttrack, intellectual policeman being able to take on a seasoned army veteran. It seems just a little bit unlikely. Especially when the soldier in question has the element of surprise. Hence I wrote this alternate version of the caravan scene in The Mind Has Mountains. Most of this is from a minor character’s perspective but I might extend it from James’ or Robbie’s perspective for what happens the next day.

James has headed out to see Dane Wise. It’s frustratingly dark even though it isn’t that late and he has to bring a flashlight to find his way to the caravan parked in a secluded area in a private woodland way outside town. He wonders absently why anyone would choose to live like this. He can be a bit of a recluse himself but this place looks miserable to him. Far away from anything. There probably isn’t even proper running water out here… never mind a proper toilet. He shudders slightly. 

The caravan is completely dark when he gets there and he realises he’s probably had a wasted journey. It’s far to early for Dane to be asleep so he must be out. James flashes the light through the window hoping to at least get a glimpse of the inside. He doesn’t see much through the grimy windows except the taps of a sink and the hint of a tiny kitchenette behind. 

Suddenly he is grabbed from behind. The hand with the flashlight is wrenched painfully behind his back and his head is bashed hard against the side of the caravan with a brutish hand wrapped around his neck. 

‘You bastard.’ is hissed in his ear. He’s spun around and a hard punch lands across his cheekbone. 

‘I’m police.’ He gasps, left hand coming up to protect himself as he tries to wrench himself free from the death grip on his right without success. 

He pushes the man away with his left hand feeling the grip on the right tighten and twist. He’s had time to vaguely recognize Dane Wise in the dim light and so refrains from his instinct to punch back.

‘Police, it’s sergeant Hathaway.’ he yells instead, somewhat louder this time and Dane stills, looks at him and suddenly lets go of his arm. 

‘Oh God, I thought, I didn’t mean.’ Dane picks up the flashlight as James leans back against the caravan cradling his right arm against his chest as he wills his heart to stop pounding frantically in his chest. 

‘I didn’t know you were police.’ Dane defends himself as he watches James slouch against the caravan breathing hard, eyes closed and face twisted in a grimace. The last thing he needs is a criminal record for assaulting a police officer, but he honestly hadn’t known. 

‘Can we go inside, I need to sit down?’ James asks and Dane is keen to oblige. 

‘I’m sorry. I thought you were a burglar.’ Dane explains as he opens the door for James who gets inside and slumps with a sigh in the seating. 

There isn’t much to the caravan. A kitchenette, at one end, a sleeping area at the other, between the two a rudimentary bathroom and a dining area comprised of a bench, come couch and a table where James is currently sat, gently inspecting his arm in the suddenly rather harsh light of the overhead lighting. 

‘I didn’t break your arm did I?’ Dane asks, suddenly worried when he sees the gentle way the sergeant is touching it. The wrist is thin and pale, with red marks around it now after their tousle. His fingers are long, thin and elegant, the nails neatly manicured. It’s so unlike any soldier’s hand Dane has ever seen, almost more like a woman’s than a man’s if the nails hadn’t been so short. He feels instant regret when he sees the red marks he’s caused that are bound to turn into bruises by the next day. 

‘I don’t think so.’ James responds flexing his wrist and grimacing. It clearly hurts but with a pained frown still on his face James carefully twists and flexes his wrist and then each of his fingers. 

‘I have a first aid kit. Do you want a cool pack for your arm, and maybe some wipes and a plaster for your face?’ Dane asks. 

‘If you don’t mind.’ James nods and then groans. His left hand comes up to cradle his head. It’s pounding. There’s a lump coming up from where he struck his forehead against the caravan. His nose is bleeding slightly though he doubt it’s broken and there’s a gash across his very, very sore cheekbone from the impact with Dane’s fist. 

The sergeant continues to question him as Dane crouches before him cleaning the blood off his face. With an activated ice pack strapped to his wrist and a piece of gauze safely secured across his cheek the young detective looks a lot less intimidating than he had in those University rooms. 

‘Is that…?’ his eyes narrow and he surges to his feet to get to the kitchen. It’s a tiny caravan but the man still wobbles, leaning against the wall before he reaches his goal. ‘Amy?’ he asks between gritted teeth.

‘Ah yes. I think you should sit down.’ Dane urges as he picks the photograph off the fridge. It all comes spilling out then. The hours spent talking to Amy, telling her about Afghanistan. He tells the policeman about Amy’s gratitude, about what he’d told her, but he can’t bring himself to tell him what a relief it had been to him. Finally having someone to talk to who cared, who wasn’t a fellow soldier or a mandated psychiatrist but who cared. Those hours with Amy, they had been his release, his therapy after the horrors of the war. He would treasure them forever. 

The policeman finally stops questioning him and drops his head in his left hand on the table. ‘Should I drive you home, or to A&E?’ Dean asks the later with trepidation. He’s seen places in the world where hitting a police officer would come with a death sentence. He knows that isn’t the case in Oxford but the repercussions if the officer before him presses charges are unlikely to be pleasant. 

‘I’ll be alright.’ the fair haired officer assures. He gets to his feet, rather unsteadily and bends down to pick up his flashlight. A breathy ‘Oh no…’ is all Dane gets before the man slumps to the ground next to the door. 

‘A&E it is.’ Dane decides regretfully before he gently supports the grumbling police officer to the car. Getting charged with assaulting a police officer is infinitely better than getting charged with murdering a police officer if the man keels over with a brain hemorrhage. Dane has killed men before, both intentionally and unintentionally. He knows that a blow to the head can be more dire than it looks at first and this chap is decidedly not alright. 

The drive to the hospital is quiet, so is the hours of waiting, first together as they wait for the other man to be seen, then on his own as he can’t bring himself to go back home before he has heard a verdict. 

At one in the morning a pretty young nurse with thick chestnut curls ushers him into an examination room to see James Hathaway. As anonymous as most official people are, policemen and army alike, he is unlikely to forget this man’s name. He’s out of his suit jacket, shirt and tie. His arm is in a sling, a blanket draped around his shoulders. On a board next to him a string of x-rays are clipped up shining brightly. The room smells of antiseptic and bile. Someone has been sick in here but not necessarily the man before Dean.

He blinks open tired eyes. ‘I’m fine. You can go home. No need to wake at my bedside.’ he pushes. 

‘What’s the verdict?’ Dane asks with trepidation.

‘Bit of a concussion and a sprained wrist. Slight fracture to my cheekbone. You throw a mean punch. Should probably have your hand x-rayed while you’re here.’ James gives the tiniest of nods toward Dane’s hand, dangling at his side. He looks down and realises it has turned black and blue. He hadn’t even noticed. 

‘It’s nothing.’ Dean waves it about realising it does indeed hurt. No way he will admit to that though. ‘Will you be alright?’ he asks instead. 

‘Fine. A night in a hospital bed and a couple of weeks of light duties at work. My boss won’t be pleased but I’ll explain to him. It was a misunderstanding. Not your fault.’ he promises and Dane breathes a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding in. 

‘I’m sorry about all this. Hope you feel better soon.’ Dane offers as a last comment before he exits the room and heads back home.


End file.
